Return of the Dragons: Part One
by Sergeant K-BAR
Summary: In the land of Skyrim, the long extinct Dragons have returned. This is part on of the tale of the Dovahkiin's quest to defeat Alduin and restore order to the land of Skyrim. There are some OC's, so don't be mad, and there are some additions/liberties.
1. Prologue: Unbound

**Imperial Province of Skyrim, 4E 201**

"And the Scrolls have foretold, of Black Wings in the cold, that when brothers wage war, come unfurled." – Song of the Dragonborn.

On the day of Tirdas, first of Frost Fall, the High King of Skyrim was slain. His throne was challenged, by right of Nordic custom, by Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Eastmarch. Using the power of Thu'um, learned from time spent with the Order of the Greybeards, the usurper Ulfric shouted the High King into pieces for all of his court to witness, proclaiming himself the new High King of Skyrim. In the weeks that followed, many Nords proclaimed loyalty to Ulfric and, by extension, the liberation of Skyrim. The Imperial Legion was sent in to deal with this uprising, in an attempt to unify the people of the Empire. Now, they seek to rout the Stormcloak Rebellion and restore order to their province. The Elder Scrolls, however, have a will more powerful than both mer and men, and their prophecy will not be forfeit.

**Third of Sun's Dusk, En Route to Helgen, 4E 201**

"Finally awake, are you Kinsman?" The Nord across from me inquired. I drearily opened my eyes and met his gaze. He smiled, even though I knew what awaited us at the end of this carriage ride.

"Tried to cross the border into Hammerfell?" He asked, an eyebrow raised but his overall expression still upbeat.

"Yeah, never saw that accursed ambush coming." I said, thinking back to the pass into Hammerfell. Those sodding Imperials, trying to catch everyone trying to leave Skyrim. I hope their ancestor's weep in Sovngarde.

"Yeah, neither did we, or that thief." The Nord said, nodding over to a small and scared man at the back of the carriage. This man looked on the verge of tears, be they from anger or sorrow.

"Skyrim was fine before you Stormcloaks came along. The Empire was nice and lazy. Me and that horse could've been halfway to Hammerfell by now." He said, his voice thick with bitter resentment for the Rebellion. I scoffed. Skyrim would be better off without those Imperial bastards.

"You, we shouldn't be hear," the Thief said, meeting my gaze. His eyes swarmed with fear. "It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants, not us."

The other Nord spoke before I could, "We're all brothers-in-binds now, thief."

"Quiet back there!" the Driver shouted. I tried to spit in his direction, but found my mouth dry. What I wouldn't give for a drop of mead.

The thief looked at the last prisoner in the carriage, whom I had not yet taken notice of, who sat silent by way of a gag.

"What's his problem?" the Thief spat, which greatly angered the Nord across from me.

"Watch your tongue, Thief! You speak to Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!" the Nord said angrily, baring his teeth at the Thief who spoke so far out of turn.

"Ulfric, the leader of the Stormcloaks?" The Thief said, panic rising in his voice. "If you're here, then…Oh Gods, where are they taking us?"

"I do not know, but Sovngarde awaits." The Nord said, his tone actually dropping from its upbeat manner into a more somber tone.

I looked around, surveying the landscape, attempting to gauge where exactly I was and, maybe, where the Imperials were taking us.

"Helgen," I said. "This road leads to Helgen. A Stronghold for the Imperials."

The carriage sat quiet, save for the Thief praying to the Nine.

"Hey, Horse Thief, what village are you from?" the Nord rebel inquired, his voice still in its serious tone. The Thief shot him an angry look.

"Why do you care?" he replied bitterly.

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home." The Rebel replied, the nature of our carriage ride now becoming obvious. The Imperials were taking us to be executed.

"And when Sovngarde beckons, every one of us dies!" I sang quietly to myself, remembering that old bard's song that Mother often sang in the tavern at night. The others continued their conversation, save Ulfric, who was gagged.

"Rorikstead. I-I'm from Rorikstead." The Thief replied, a sad calmness in his voice. The poor soul was struggling with accepting his death.

"And what of you, Kinsman?" the Rebel asked, shaking me from a half-trance as I contemplated my own end.

"Solstheim. I hail from Solstheim." I told him, remembering the frozen island that I called home in my youth, and all the Dunmer that lived there. Father despised them, and eventually convinced Mother to move to Riften, and that was the place I called home for a brief period of time before moving to a farm in the Reach.

"General Tullius, sir!" Our driver called to a man clad in gilded armor. That bastard was the commander of the Imperial Legion and the largest army of backstabbers and High-Elf lovers. Damn those High-Elves and their Aldmeri Dominion.

"The Headsman awaits!" Tullius called back, motioning for the gatekeeper to allow the carriage entrance to Helgen.

The Thief prayed to his Eight Divines, leaving out Talos, as most weak-minded Nords have done since the end of the Great War.

The carriage came to a halt infront of Helgen's Keep, with the executioner waiting to earn his keep. Another carriage, this one filled entirely with Stormcloaks, pulled alongside us. The Rebels filed out and joined our small cluster of soon-to-be dead men.

When the Guards began to call us up to the block, the Thief panicked. I looked down as he ran off and tried to escape, only to be shot in the back by an Imperial archer. Poor way to die, Horse-Thief.

"Wait, this one's not on the list." A guard called out, gesturing at me. The intervening guard asked me my name.

"I am Roran Broken-Sword, of Solstheim." I answered proudly, wanting to spit in the face of the backstabbing Imperial infront of me.

"Yeah, he's not on the list." The guard said, looking at his captain, an Imperial woman who looked far too proud to wear the armor of a captain.

"It doesn't matter, Hadvar. He goes to the block." She said, her eyes filled with hatred for my kind. I returned her gaze. Hadvar apologized and then two guards shoved me in the direction of the block.

A faint roar echoed in the distance.

"What was that?" one of the guards said. The captain ordered him to continue with the executions.

Another roar, this time closer.

"Again?" Another guard said, stopping to look skyward.

"Get on with it!" The captain yelled, frustrated with the short attention spans of the guards.

A third roar. Then the air shuddered with enough force to rattle the cobblestone street.

"By the Nine, what is that!" A guard yelled, pointing to the sky. All that were gathered in the square looked upwards, jaws dropped, and I remembered a long forgotten verse from an even more ancient song.

"Alduin, Bane of Kings, Ancient Shadow Unbound." I whispered. The guards turned to each other, shouting and screaming.

"Don't just stand there, kinsman, run!" The other Nord, who I learned was named Ralof, shouted at me. I stumbled out of the headsman's block and ran awkwardly to the tower that Ralof had called me to.

"What in Sovngarde is that?" Ralof asked, looking for answers in Ulfric, who was unbound and ungagged.

"A dragon, I do believe." Ulfric replied, rubbing a raw spot on his wrist.

Ralof's voice gained a note of panicked disbelief.

"A dragon? Then, the legends are true? The end-times are upon us?" he asked, his eyes going wide with shock.

"Legends don't raze towns," Ulfric said. "Now come on, let's move." And with that, we began moving up the tower, looking for anything we could use to fight off the dragon.

As we reached the second level, the tower shuddered, and then the head of that fowl beast shattered the wall and filled the chamber with fire. Behind the roar of the flames, I could almost hear words, as if the flame was conjured by some ancient incantation from the beast's maw.

"Kinsman, you see that inn? Jump!" Ralof shouted, shoving me through the hole created by the dragon. I threw myself at the inn, rolling as I landed in the second floor.

The floor, however, had other ideas. Weak from fire damage, the wood cracked under my frame and sent me crashing into the first floor of the inn.

I picked myself up off the floor, choking on the smoke that filled the lower level of the inn. Stumbling through darkness, I managed to find my way outside, into a side alley that I hoped would hide me from the dragon.

A man called for his child, who was hiding under a wagon in the street.

"Prisoner! With me!" Hadvar called. I looked at the filthy Imperial Soldier, letting him know that he was absolute scum and, if it weren't for impending doom, I would kill him where he stood.

The Dragon roared again as he made another pass over Helgen, his fiery breath filling the air, blistering several Imperial guards as they fell dead from his might.

As I followed Hadvar, we passed several Imperial Mages, trying to fight fire with fire. Those pathetic mages couldn't manage to fell the beast, and met a gruesome end by his infernal blaze.

Hadvar and I entered the Keep's courtyard, and I heard a familiar voice call out to us.

"Kinsman! We meet again!" Ralof called out, approaching Hadvar and I. He looked over at Hadvar and frowned.

"Ralof! You traitorous scum!" Hadvar yelled, his loyalty to the Empire showing strong. Ralof scowled at him.

"It is you who is the traitor!" Ralof yelled back, angry with the Nord Legionary.

"Kinsmen! Now is not the time!" I yelled, attempting to diffuse this utterly pointless situation. Hadvar and Ralof both looked at me crossways, and I finished my statement.

"We need to escape. In-case you've forgotten, there is a sodding dragon razing the town!"

"He is right," Hadvar said, sheathing his blade. "If you come with me, I'll see you both pardoned for your crimes."

"You can eat your pardon, Hadvar. I go free by my own ways!" Ralof shouted, running towards the main hall of the keep.

"Come, kinsman. Hopefully you see reason." Hadvar invited. I spat in his face and followed Ralof into the keep.

**Helgen Keep, 4E 201, Skyrim**

"Glad to be away from those Imperials, eh kinsman?" Ralof said as we entered the keep, stopping to cut the bindings from my wrists. Afterwards, he walked over to a fallen comrade and retrieved his weapon and removed his armor.

"Take these. Bjarn won't need them now." Ralof said, handing me a War Axe and a set of armor, styled in the way of the Stormcloaks.

"Thank you, kinsman." I whispered in Bjarn's direction, thankful for his last act of honor.

Ralof motioned for us to hide, and I heard voices coming from a nearby corridor. One of them belonged to that damn Imperial Captain. Ralof put a finger to his lips and reached for his blade. I weighed the axe in my hand, desperate to trade it for something more…elegant. Axes were not my strong suite.

"Shh! Thought I heard something." The Captain said as they rounded the corner.

"Now!" Ralof yelled, springing from his concealed position and felling the guardsmen. I threw my axe and smiled as it split the smug skull of that guard captain.

"Imperial scum." I spat at her corpse. Taking my time, I gathered some of their gear, including a sword, a pair of boots, and some bracers. Ralof nodded in approval of my kill.

"Quite the arm you've got, kinsman. Did I catch your name?" He said, attempting to build camaraderie between us. I met his gaze with a stern glance.

"Roran Broken-Sword, of Solstheim. " I told him, Nordic pride again flowing into my tone. That forsaken island would forever be my birthplace.

"Solstheim? Didn't think any kinsmen still lived there, what with all the grayskins." Ralof replied. I shot him a glance of disdain at the racial slur.

"The Dunmer are as honorable a race as any, even for elves. They fight well, and work harder than most folk realize." I said, my rebuke laden with a lifetime of personal experience. Though I despised High Elves, I had seen firsthand how the Dunmer live. They are treated like second-class citizens at best, animals at worst. It is not a just punishment for their past crimes. Even they share a Nord's hatred of the Altmer.

"Sorry, kinsman. Didn't mean to offend." Ralof said semi-apologetically. I merely shook my head and moved on. The keep still rattled occasionally from the onslaught of the dragon. I felt a brief spell of remorse for the Imperials as they died in a battle they could not hope to win.

"By Talos, what kins of place is this?" Ralof said in a disgusted wondering. I snapped back to reality to realize we had reached some kind of…torture room.

"It's a…torturing chamber. Those damned Imperials!" I half-growled, furious with the way they treated their enemies. Even the Altmer don't deserve this.

"Halt! Who do you think you are?" a hooded guardsmen called out, holding a raised hand in our direction. I looked and saw the tell-tale spark of magicka flickering around his extended hand, the devious grin slowly devouring his face. Without even so much as a thought, I reached forward and tapped into a deep well of power within me, unleashing a jet of pure flame directed at the Inquisitor's face.

"Die Imperial!" I roared as he fell to the ground, clutching at the burning flesh on his treacherous face.

"Hold traitor!" A guard yelled, charging into the room to defend his comrade. I drew out my newly acquired sword and redirected the flames at him. He swung, briefly parting the stream of fire. The distraction was just long enough for me to stage a counterattack.

As the guard readied a return swing, I parried and then stepped in for the kill strike while he was staggered. A clang of metal, and the sound of blade piercing both armor and flesh filled the air as I slew the guardsman. Ralof brought his axe down on the dying guard to finish him off.

"Sovngarde take you." He said to the guard, spitting on his corpse.

"Kinsmen! Over here" a voice called to us. I looked and saw two Stormcloaks locked inside of a cell unfit for an animal. I answered them by heating the lock and then bashing it in while the metal was still pliable.

They looked at me with astonishment before leaving the cell.

"Thank you kinsman, and well-met to you both." The smaller one, a young girl by the looks of her, said graciously. I nodded and pointed them to a storage chest on the other side of the room.

"Take what you can. I'll see if there's anything in the other cells." I said, moving for the sole remaining occupied cell. In it was a single mage. I picked the lock to this one, finding several lock-picks on the ground outside. The poor soul must have tried to escape. I checked his person for anything of value, finding a few septims and a spell tome. I also relieved him of his robes, favoring them over the semi-bulky Stormcloak cuirass Ralof had retrieved from Bjarn's body. Quickly changing, I could feel the power of their enchantment filling me with that semi-substantial energy all magically affluent know as magicka. I kept the Imperial boots and bracers I had "borrowed" from the guards. They would come in handy until I could find some better armor, as would the robes. Also in the room was a quiver of simple, yet useful, iron arrows. Looting several more from the dead guard, I slung the quiver over my shoulder and followed Ralof on his way out of the chamber.

"I'm Ralof, by the way." He said to the liberated rebels. They introduced themselves as Grod and Svella, both from Ivorstead. I told them my name, as always, with that same bit of pride that only I would ever understand. Though my father and mother still live in the Reach, I would always been a child born of Solstheim, and a true Son of Skyrim.

Following Ralof's lead, we entered an old cave system that had obviously been used as an old escape route in the elder times.

"Hold, kinsmen." Ralof said in a hushed tone, crouching down to avoid detection by an adversary we had yet to see.

"Imperials. Follow my lead." He said, drawing out a dagger. Svella followed,nocking an arrow while Grod hefted his warhammer, obviously lacking in the area of subtlety. Ralof twirled the dagger in his hand, holding by the blade, and hurled it at the skull of an unfortunate Imperial guard. Svella loosed her arrow within seconds of Ralof's release. Two of the five Imperials fell dead, and that was all Grod needed.

"For Skyrim!" He roared as he charged their position, taking an arrow from the surviving archer. Svella returned fire, pinning an arrow through the archer's traitorous throat.

I readied my sword and stepped into the charge of one of the remaining guardsmen, sending my blade through his torso as he realized the folly of his charge.

Grod finished off the last Imperial by crushing his skull under the head of his warhammer. We took a moment to breath in our success before parting ways, Svella and Grod taking off down a fork in the cave system.

"Looks like it's back to just you and me, eh?" Ralof joked, handing me the dead archer's longbow. "You may need this."

I nodded in thanks and continued through the cave, wincing as I noticed the increasing presence of cobwebs. This could only mean one thing, and my suspicions were proven true as we entered a moderately sized cavern.

"Frostbite Spiders." Ralof and I said simultaneously. I bore a personal hatred of all things arachnid, and these big uglies were no different.

The hideous monsters, as if on cue, turned to face us at that moment. In those few tense moments before they lurched toward us, I counted the eyes of each one. Eight, sixteen, twenty-four…128 eyes total. Not allowing panic to set in, I readied my sword and my spell and charged the horde of eight-legged monstrosities. Unleashing fire from the palm of my hand, two of the ugly creatures back away shrieking, another felled by my blade. Ralof split two more open while I continued to convert the spider den into a bonfire. As the last one fell, we took to the unpleasant task of gathering their venom, which we both knew was both potent and useful.

"So, I take you hate these things too?" Ralof said as we milked the venom from the creatures' fangs.

"Yeah, ever since I was little. Too many legs and eyes." I answered, continuing with the unpleasant task. We finished rather quickly. After stowing the poison in our satchels, we continued through the cave, only stopping when entering a bear's den.

"If you feel lucky, you could maybe get in a good shot with that bow. Or we could just sneak around her." Ralof said, his voice hushed and calm. He apparently was prepared for either event.

"Well, I do indeed feel lucky, kinsman." I said, dipping my arrow in some of our newly collected Frostbite venom. Smirking as I nocked the arrow, crept onto a nearby ledge, and then took aim at the Cave Bear's thick neck as she slept, unaware of my presence. Loosing the arrow, I heard the satisfactory _thunck_ of impact. Readying my flames, I allowed the injured bear to charge me and, when the poison took hold midway, baptized it in fire.

"It kills, and it cooks!" Ralof said with a light chuckle. I grinned as the bear slowly roasted in my magical flames, and when we knew she was dead we walked on. Shortly thereafter, we found the exit to this accursed cave system. Nothing against Helgen, but I am never coming back here.


	2. Chapter One: The Journey Begins

**Helgen, 4E 201**

General Tullius ran under a large piece of rubble, barely dodging the dragon's breath as fire washed over the makeshift shelter. Tullius crouched low within the shelter of the debris, only daring to peak out when he saw the dragon move to another part of the town.

"General Tullius!" Hadvar screamed, looking for the commander. The Legion would weep if he had been lost in the attack.

"I'm here Hadvar!" Tullius called back, beckoning for Hadvar to enter his shelter. Hadvar upped his pace an entered the shelter shortly after his summons. Tullius smiled at the young Nord, happy to see one of his more dedicated soldiers still alive.

"Good to see you're still alive." Tullius said, patting Hadvar on the shoulder.

"You as well, sir." Hadvar replied, genuinely glad to see his commander still breathing. Still, both men took a brief rest inside the makeshift shelter. Tullius began to form a plan to combat the, for lack of a better word, monster that assaulted Helgen and rained fiery death from the heavens. He took a moment to search for any remaining mages, his heart searing with grief as he saw them fight in vain against this vile creature. This beast, who some claimed a dragon, unleashed devastating fire upon the Imperial Mages, whose screams would forever haunt the deepest regions of Tullius's soul.

"General, sir," Hadvar said, his voice laden with despair. "What will we do?"

Tullius met his gaze. Hadvar's eyes were brimming with fear, childlike with their search for a way out.

"What can we do?" Tullius said, dashing all hope of victory. Defeated, Tullius ordered his men to wait it out until the beast left.

**Whiterun Hold, 4E 201**

Sunlight hit my eyes hard as Ralof and I left the cave system. I lifted my hand to shield them and stumbled forward in blindness.

"Get down!" I heard Ralof yell, his voice a hoarse whisper. Instinctively I found the earth, not caring whether I hit hard or soft. Rolling in behind a bush, I saw the cause of Ralof's distress.

"Wait until he leaves." Ralof whispered, pointing at the dragon weaving through the skies, searching for something. He let loose a roar and soared off into the distance.

"Well, glad that's finally over. Come on, kinsman. We've still got a ways to go." Said Ralof. I shot him a puzzled glance.

"And where, exactly, are we going?" I asked him, curious as to our as-of-yet unspoken destination.

"Well, I figured we'd head to Riverwood. I've got a sister there who could help us on our way." He answered, making his way down the mountainside. I took this silence to survey our surroundings, and instantly recognized where we were. Whiterun Hold, on the opposite side of Helgen's mountain. Guess I know where that cave took us now.

"Alright," I said, anxious to get moving. "It's as good a place as any. We'll need to camp soon, though. The wild isn't safe at night." Ralof nodded in agreement, glancing up at the afternoon sky. We had maybe an hour before dark, so camp needed to come soon. Luckily, I knew of an abandoned mine nearby that we could stay a night in. Within the hour, and just before the onset of darkness, we reached the mine. But something was off. The smell of charcoal, roasted meats, and a general attitude of being lived in. Then it hit us, literally. Two bandits charged us from the brush, and I heard Ralof shout "Archer!" and the saw the arrow sticking out from his leg. Not a fatal injury, but nonetheless a painful one. The Bandit charging me wielded a poorly forged mace and wore a good set of studded armor. As he swung at me, I prepared to relieve him of the burden of breath. Dodging the first swing, I slashed at him with my blade, finding satisfaction as it caught his hamstring. He swung back at me, faster than before, and caused my breath to momentarily leave me as his mace found my side. Angered, I thrust my blade through his skull, smiling at the death-blow I had struck him. Another arrow whistled throw the air, finding my shoulder and increasing both pain and fury. With my teeth gritted in a cry of rage, I blasted the archer with my unnatural flames. Ralof finished his assaulting bandit with a quick blow to the throat.

"See kinsman? I told you the wild is dangerous after dark." I said as I slumped against the outside of the mine, consciousness beginning to fade from both my wounds and exhaustion.

**Helgen, 4E 201**

"General Tullius, sir! Wake up!" Hadvar half-yelled, shaking Tullius lightly in an attempt to rouse him.

"Hmm? What is it?" Tullius said wearily, waving Hadvar off. Looking around him, he saw darlness had fallen on Helgen, but it hid none of the horrors. Fires raged and bathed charred corpses in an eerie light, the flickering tongues casting deep shadows and highlighting the grotesque features of what had once been the Helgen Legion. Tullius couldn't bear to look upon what remained of Helgen.

"Hadvar, how far is the nearest Imperial Fort?" Tullius asked, his voice still weary and filled with grief.

"A day's march if we follow the valley, two if we circumvent the mountain." Hadvar replied, extending a hand to help the general to his feet.

"Then let's get started. Gather the survivors and we'll begin making our way there." Tullius ordered. Turning his gaze skyward, he prayed to the Eight Divines that whatever foul beast did this got what it justly deserved.

**Whiterun Hold, 4E 201**

I awoke to intense agony in my side and shoulder. When my eyes managed to find light of day, I saw that Ralof had managed to dislodge the arrows from our wounds. My side had been bandaged as well, though the bulk of that wound was internal and I would need to see a healer about that.

"So, you're finally awake." Ralof said, indicating he had very little sleep the previous night. Although I could make the same argument, I held my tongue. Today was not the day for petty squabbles and rows. I pushed myself into a low crouch and proceeded to stand, my wounds roaring in protest. I gritted my teeth pushed through the pain, however, and began to move for the hill.

"Come on Ralof," I said," Let us not waste time. You and I both have places to be and wound to be healed."

"I agree. Riverwood should be about a three hour march from here, four if we pause for another rest." Ralof answered. I offered him a shoulder because of his leg but he refused, instead having already fashioned a walking stick from a nearby branch.

The walk sounded worse than it was and, in spite of our wounds, we made it to Riverwood faster than we had thought. Ralof led me to his sister and brother-in-law, who gladly offered us shelter, and supplies for our journeys.

Ralof's sister had me swear to get aide from the Jarl, however. I agreed, as it was the least I could do to repay them. I left Riverwood with a bit of soreness still in my wounds, but I had one last healing potion to take as a part of my prescription. For a small village, Riverwood had an amazing healer, and their smith and general trader had an amazing stock. Ralof and I traded our raided Imperial gear for some better fitting equipment from the Smith. My Imperial sword bartered well for a good steel longsword, and the bandit's studded armor proved to be a good fit for me. I purchased some hide bracers from the Smith and then got the rest of my gear from Ralof's sister and the local trader. Ralof and I parted ways as I made for Whiterun, himself returning to Windhelm to get his next assignment for the Rebellion. I bade him good fortune and proceeded my march to Whiterun, capital of Whiterun Hold. Lucky me the journey was rather uneventful, save for the wolves that continually ambushed me. On the second day of the journey I beheld Whiterun, large and sprawling, from my camp on a nearby cliff. Below me, a pair of giants patrolled their camp. I could smell roasting skeever and mammoth cheese wafting up from their spit. It made my stomach grumble a complaint, which I silenced with a roast goat and some mead.

After resting for an hour, a scattered my campfire and returned to the road, following it down the mountain and onto the plains around Whiterun. I watched thick forest wane into rolling fields of farmland, a golden brown in the winter sun. I passed two small farms and the Honningbrew Meadery before I saw them.

"Look out for that club!" I heard one of them yell. I looked for the source of the noise and saw two archers fire arrows into an enraged giant. Drawing my own bow from its sheathe, I fired a poisoned arrow into the creature's hearts, smiling as the poison began to take. While the giant fell to one knee, I sprinted up to it and buried my sword deep in its chest, caught off guard when he bellowed and threw me into the side of a nearby farmhouse. The warriors raised their bows and fired more shot into him, and one of them drew his greatsword, forged of a bright steel that mirrored the sky, and sliced open the giant's throat, spilling blood across the field.

The apparent leader of this group approached me, and offered a hand.

"Thanks for the distraction," she said. I took the hand and groaned, the giant's blow having aggravated my existing wounds. "You've got a good bit of fight in you. You'd make a good Shield-Brother."

So that's who they are then? The Companions. An order of fighter dating all the way back to the return of Ysgramor from Atmora.

"I appreciate the thought, but I'm of no use to anyone while my injuries persist." I managed to say, my voice hoarse and strained from the impact. I never thought something so large could hit so hard.

"Nonetheless, come see Kodlak at Jorrvoskr when you feel ready." She said, motioning for the rest of her party to follow. I smiled and continued to stumble along the road until I reached the outer gatehouse. A Khajiit Caravan offered me a place to sit and recover from the assault, which they had a pleasant view of.

"Quite the fight, you had. Not many a man could charge Giantkin like that and live." One of the Khajiit said. I didn't catch his name. J'something I'm sure. After a few minutes of sitting, I rose and continued into the city. When I reached the inner gate, the guards called for me to stop.

"The city's closed. No one in or out except on official business." The Guard said. I looked at him with disdain.

"I'm on mission from Riverwood with news for the Jarl of Whiterun." I said, anger beginning to taint my voice. The guard laughed and shook his head.

"Like I haven't heard that before." He said, and tried to waive me away. I spoke out before the other guard could guide me away.

"Helgen has been razed by a dragon and Riverwood thinks it's next. They want me to speak to the Jarl about sending aide!" I yelled, my face flushed with anger. The guard ushering me out stopped. The gate guard's shield hit the ground. As far as I could tell, their jaws had dropped.

"L-let him through." The gate guard stuttered, stumbling to pick up his shield. I shoved the other guard out of my way and proceeded through the gate, glad to be making progress on my journey for once.

**Whiterun, 4E 201**

As I entered the city of Whiterun, I sighed. The city had seen better days. The lockdown was beginning to take its toll on the populace. Cabin fever was setting in, and some of the locals were getting irritable. Some of the stores were beginning to run low on nonessential goods. The Imperials had a minor presence here, as did the Stormcloaks, and the two most prominent clans were locked in a feud over who had Skyrim's best interests at heart. It quickly became evident that the Jarl was not taking sides in the war.

I made my way up to Dragonsreach, which was the name of the Jarl's Keep, and repeated my story to the guards there. After being let in, I was directed up to the Jarl's throne, and there I was stopped by his housecarl.

"Halt! What business do you have with the Jarl?" She asked. I looked her over. She was Dunmer, tall with red hair and an athletic build. She's been a fighter for a good while, and she had my respect for that.

"I have news regarding Helgen." I said, not wanting to cause a stir. Too late for that. Within seconds I was being hounded by an Imperial whose name I didn't catch. It was the usual onslaught of inquiries. Is it true? Was it a dragon? Are there any survivors?

"Enough!" Jarl Balgruuf the Greater called. I heaved a sigh of relief at this and began my approach. "Speak your piece, traveler."

And so I told him. I told him of the dragon that laid waste to Helgen; of the destruction and the chaos during said destruction; and of the dragon flying away, in an uncertain direction as though he were looking for something.

"So it was a dragon, then?" He asked, seeking absolute confirmation. I nodded, cementing the facts. The Jarl rested his head in his hand and breathed a sigh of defeat.

"Then the end-times are truly upon us, then. Farengar should here this." Jarl Balgruuf continued. He motioned for me to follow him to his court magician, who had been researching dragon lore for the last few years.

"Farengar, I have good news," Jarl Balgruuf called as we entered his magicians study. Farengar's study was modest and small compared to others I had the pleasure of seeing. It had a few bookshelves and an Arcane Enchanter as well as an Alchemy Station. Farengar was well verse in the mythic arts, then.

"What is it, my Jarl?" Farengar replied, his gaze fixed on some important looking scroll. I laughed at him, the typical mage. Always studying, never once giving thought to anything but the arcane things.

"This man has seen one of your 'Mythical Beasts'." The Jarl replied, his voice rolling with a light-yet-hearty laugh that made him seem incredibly likeable.

Immediately, Farengar began pelting me with questions about dragons, few of which I felt equipped to properly answer. After giving my best shot at it, Farengar told me of an artifact he needed someone to fetch him.

"What kind of artifact?" I asked cautiously. When I was young I had seen a man devoured in flames after discovering a book from a Daedric Arcanium. Ever since then, I have been wary of all ancient artifacts.

"A stone, supposedly with a Draconic inscription carved into it. I've studied local mythology and the reports of several explorers, and I believe it to be located in Bleak Falls Barrow. Near Riverwood." He said, and began outlining the details of the assignment while gesturing at several marked locations on a map of Skyrim.

"A stone?" I ask, gaining a reassuring nod from Farengar. I shrugged, figuring it was worth my while. The Jarl told me it would take some time to gather the necessary troops, and working for Farengar would greatly benefit me beyond simply passing the time. Regardless, I made my way to Bleak Falls Barrow, steeling myself for whatever waited within its ancient halls.

**Bleak Falls Barrow, 4E 201**

The ancient barrow stood steadfast ahead of me, its arches standing sharp against the craggy face of the mountain. I inhaled sharply at the sight of it.

"By the Nine." I muttered, upping my pace as the ominous structure grew closer. The uneven terrain of the mountain gave way to the flat paving stones of ancient Nordic design. The air gained an unnatural chill and stillness, as though the entire barrow was displaced from this world. Ancient bones lay strewn across the entrance, obvious marks of the previous ventures into this unholy place. I summoned my courage and pushed onward, entering the ancient halls of Bleak Falls Barrow.

The wind howls through the entrance chamber, sending a chill down my spine. There is no solace in this place. I shake the cold from my bones and begin marching further into the barrow.

_Drem Yol Lok_

My ears rang with this whisper, which came only with a slight breeze. The words shook my body, like a small tremor. Even the halls of the barrow seemed to quake before these words.

"Who goes?" I half-whisper, fear pushing my courage into my soul. My hand began to reach for my sword, never quite leaving the hil even after I had begun to calm down.

_Wunduniik, tol hi yah, nu praan ko vokun._

The whisper rang though the barrow once again, the tremors causing my knees to buckle. Debris was beginning to fall from the ceiling when suddenly, the disappeared in a blinding flash of white.

The world swirled around me as I found myself sprawled on the floor of a vast expanse of nothing. Wisps of smoke drifted endlessly across this expanse of nothing. I deciphered that I had entered a place that was neither here nor ther, neither Aetherius nor Oblivion. Even Sovngarde lay outside this bizarre realm of the in-between.

"Dovahkiin." A voice called out to me, sending great quakes through the entirety of this strange dimension.

"Welcome" The voice called again, this time without an accompanying tremor.

"Who are you?" I called back, my voice hoarse and confused. I could not place this realm or my means of entering it.

"I am Ysmir, the Dragon of the North. You know me as Talos, and I ruled your kind as Tiber Septim." The voice replied. Immediately I fell to my face, feeling unworthy to stand in the presence of mighty Talos.

"Great General Talos, I am not worthy to stand in your presence." I called to him, my face firmly planted in the wispy surface I dared to call ground.

"Rise, Dovahkiin," Talos called to me. I rose and observed him form from the mists, his great armored frame becoming solid before my very eyes.

"You are indeed worthy to stand before me, for you are one born of great Akatosh." He said, arms spread in a greeting manner. I knew not of what he spoke.

"Akatosh? But, I am a Nord," I said, confusion welling within me. " Born of men and descended from your people, the Nedes."

Talos smiled at me and laughed, a hearty laugh that could shatter mountains if he so desired it.

"True, but you are so much more," He said, and immediately the mists parted and I beheld the entire world drifting below me.

"You are Dovahkiin. A dragon, made into mortal flesh." He told me. I stood in awe. Me? A Dragonborn? I had heard the legends of old, but thought the Dragonborn had died with the Septim line.

"But, how? How can this be, Might Talos?" I asked, still lost in a sea of confusion.

Talos's smile had begun to fade.

"Because my son, Alduin has returned. The End Times are upon you." The realm shook again at the name Alduin. I knew it as the 'World Eater' of the old legends. And now, I am presented with the truth.

"So, am I to stop him?" I ask Talos, my mind trying to find peace with this new information.

"Stop him? You cannot stop a God. You can only delay the inevitable. You were made so that Alduin could be deterred from his goal. There is no saving the world in this battle. Only postponing its destruction" Talos said with defeat.

At this, I lost my temper. Taking one look at Talos, I could see why the Empire was willing to cease their worship of him. I could see why he had lost his divinity among most races of men. He had become a coward.

"Listen to yourself Talos! Cannot stop a God? Only delay him?" I bellowed, my fury with my favored divine rising.

"You have let yourself be defeated! You have become a coward!" I roared. At this, Talos himself roared at me, sending my spirit tumbling back to Mundus.

"A coward? I am no coward. I merely know when to accept defeat!" I heard Talos bellow at me from his realm in the heavens. As I was engulfed in white yet again, I found myself laying spread-eagle on the floor of the entrance hall. I rose to my feet and shook of my shame. Talos had long forsaken men and Mundus. No wonder he had lost his divinity. I pressed into the barrow, now fueled by my rage instead of some quest for glory or global salvation.


End file.
